String cheese.

I am no longer beautiful. I am no longer intelligent. I am no longer intriguing. That’s history, there. And I can’t make anybody laugh. I’m not honest anymore, especially to myself. And sweet? Forget it. It’s more like bittersweet.

I was stripped of it all. Slowly, like strands of string cheese.

I did this. I ate the string cheese. I have the stomach ache to prove it.